Lonely Like Me
by angel of moozik
Summary: Draco thought he was the only one who felt alone, until he took a closer look.


**Wow, it's been a long time since I've published anything on here! If you have me on author alert and you've been wondering where I disappeared to (not very likely I know!), it's all on my profile; I won't bore you with the details here. This is my first attempt at writing something from scratch in over a year, so I hope it's ok; I feel a bit out of practice!**

**I don't know where this idea came from; it isn't really how I think of Luna at all. I think she does actually enjoy her own company. Ah well, sometimes it's fun to look at things from another angle!**

* * *

He came down to the lake every night to think. Severus had secretly taught him how to cast a disillusionment charm over the summer, when the Dark Lord had first given him this task. He still couldn't cast them perfectly, but he was good enough; it was always dark by the time he'd given up trying to sleep, and no one else was around anyway, apart from Filch, who wouldn't notice the odd ripple anyway, the stupid Squib! Anyway, what would it matter if he was caught? In fact, maybe if he was, and he caused enough trouble, he'd be expelled and be sent home, away from his responsibilities and the task he really didn't want to carry out. That wouldn't happen though; Severus would find a way to keep him there, and if he didn't, they'd both be punished anyway. He might even be killed.

He'd always feared death. He'd had to; his parents had been threatened with it enough times, and he'd grown up knowing that one little slip, and the Dark Lord wouldn't think twice about killing them. As a child though, he'd always been confident that once he was a Death Eater, he wouldn't make any mistakes. The Dark Lord would always be pleased with him. _'As a child...' _He still _was _a child. This was too soon. He wasn't ready. He was going to make a mistake. No, he'd already made plenty of mistakes. The poison hadn't worked, the necklace hadn't worked, and the Dark Lord was getting impatient.

This was why he'd come down to the lake again. At the start of the year, the midnight visits were only once every few weeks. He'd needed to get away from his classmates, let his trademark confidence slip off his face, out of his posture and just sit, curled up, head in his knees every so often. He'd been determined not to let anyone know that something was bothering him. He was Draco Malfoy; people looked up to him and he couldn't afford for them to see him weak and scared. This had been a place where he could sit and think up the next way of possibly fulfilling his orders, and no one could see him shudder and grimace as he thought up his next plan. The salamander wasn't going to pay much attention to him, and there was nothing else, just thick, dark summer air, the lake completely still in the muggy heat.

Since Christmas, though, the visits to the lake were nightly. He'd long given up trying to keep his air of confidence around his friends. He sat on his own in class, on the end of the table at mealtimes, went to the library instead of sitting in the Common Room in the evenings. He wanted to confide in someone so badly, but he knew he couldn't. His mission was a secret, and actually, if he _did _ tell someone about it, they'd probably be _proud_, and _encourage _him. The thought made him feel sick. They didn't know though; they weren't Death Eaters yet. It was all still fun and games to them. Or maybe it should be to him too. Maybe it wasn't that he was too young, too inexperienced. Maybe he was made of the wrong stuff and was just as bad as the muggle-lovers.

He shook his head. He hated being alone with his thoughts. This was exactly why he wanted to be with other people; once he had his self-assured facade on, he could actually become that version of Draco and block out all those thoughts. The only trouble was, he couldn't make himself do it. He just didn't have the energy anymore. He was completely trapped.

Curling up in his usual position (it had become a comforting habit by now, to make himself so small and still in the darkness that he could almost pretend he wasn't even there), he pushed himself back into the tree trunk as far as he could. It wasn't particularly comfortable; the bark dug into his back through his robes and the ground was hard and uneven, but he liked it. Tonight was different though. There was someone else there.

He was surprised at how long it had taken him to realise; spending so much time alone had made him particularly aware of when other people were near him. There was never anyone in his spot when he came here though – that's why he'd let his guard down. A little voice in his head chastised him – 'this is why you're such a pathetic excuse for a Death Eater. Never let your guard down. You might as well have come out here wandless.' He tried to stop the voice, but couldn't, so waited almost meekly until he'd finished being told off and then edged round the trunk to see who was on the other side.

It was hard to see; it was dark enough already, but the leaves on the tree were thick and full, casting most of the area under it into shadow, as if it was covered by a heavy cloak. He heard a female sigh though, and there was no mistaking the flash of bright blonde he saw when a breeze moved the leaves, briefly lifting the cloak. It was the Lovegood girl.

It made sense for her to be here, he supposed. She was always doing odd things and sitting around on her own. She never seemed to speak to anyone, except the Weasley girl and Potter and his friends occasionally. Thinking about it, he couldn't remember ever hearing her voice. She probably never said anything of any importance anyway. He never really paid her much attention, but of all the times he remembered seeing her, she was always sat on her own, reading, or staring into space, big watery eyes not focussed on anything that anyone else could see. She was a strange girl, definitely a bit of a loner.

Then something dawned on him. Was she a loner, or was she lone_ly_? He thought again. When was the last time he'd spoken to anyone, even his friends? He barely remembered the sound of his own voice. Most of the times he'd seen her, she'd been in the library alone, just like him. He went because he felt he couldn't talk to people, maybe she felt the same way. She definitely didn't have many people to talk to anyway. And now she was here, sat in the darkness on her own too. Maybe he'd completely misunderstood her. Maybe she felt just as alone as he did. He almost wanted to say something to her, but he couldn't bring himself to. They didn't know each other, and they were on completely different sides in this war that would inevitably come anyway. He wondered if she knew he was sitting there, just metres away from her.

He smiled. It was just a small smile, and it felt strange on his face, almost aching. Whether she knew he was there or not, sitting in her presence made him feel a little less lonely, and just for that night, he was able to forget about his plans and the task ahead of him. He didn't feel he had to make himself small and invisible, or big and overconfident. He didn't have to make himself be anything; he could just be.


End file.
